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Friday, 1 November 2013

Something Terribly Wrong

There was something different about this
place. An event fundamentally different and wrong in this very familiar place.
Something hinting at a fundamental imbalance despite appearances. Everything
looked physically fine to Him, but still something basic had gone awry.
Everything Smelled fine too and He could still Hear the children at home from
school for the weekend, playing as heathily as He had always Wished.

‘This had better still be Paradise,’ said
God, Suspiciously Eyeing the environs of His Familiar Home. He was Quite Serious.
‘Morningstar I Seriously Hope hasn’t learned something I am yet to Know. Morningstar
had better not restart That Ancient Feud. There will be consequences.’ God was
talking to Himself only because this new threat, or illness, felt world changing,
to which He was Responding Similarly out of Character. ‘Christ’s Counsel
Methinks is Needed.’

God took out His Mobile, feeling sin approach
closer all over His Hairs while He Dialled Christ’s Number. Christ promptly Answered,

‘Hello, Father.’

‘Hello, My Son. Something is wrong at
Home, something seriously wrong. I need You over Here to Help Identify a
possibly deep bane.’

‘I know, Father. The cause is within My
Home. I have been Considering it for twenty minutes. A very serious cause.’

‘What is it?’

‘We need to talk in Person. It’s something
I think We cannot undo.’

‘Well then Get over Here, quick. This sin
grows and grows.’

‘I’ll be There soon.’

True to His Word as usual Christ was in
His Father’s Allotment of Paradise quickly, Jogging up to His Father. He was
dressed in His Usual Shorts, Shirt and Boots, His Hair in a ponytail just for
the change. The Beard had Gone centuries ago.

‘Well, what is it,’ asked God brusquely.
Sin was coursing closer All Over His Hairs.

‘That oracle I told you about, the one who
was broadcasting that wilful, persistent sinfulness may no longer be
countenanced with a simple mumbling of hasty prayer…’ Christ’s Voice caught,
hinting at a Sob.

God was Speechless. The oracle, a writer, was
now destroyed. He had been steadily, successfully, healing the moral law’s
breach, proclaiming that consciously continuing abominations would no longer
stand before The Lord, abominations to be atoned with just some easy prayer. Murdered
with his own hand; unforgivable. Things could now only get much, much worse.

‘How do You know it was by his own hand?’

‘He lays in a small lake of bloody crimson
from his neck’s carotid arteries, razor in his right hand and a suicide note
pinned to his shirt.’

God remained Speechless, Forlorn. After a
few minutes of Mutual Despair and silence He said,

‘We had best Look into this, My Son.’

‘Yes, Father.’

They soon Reached Christ’s Allotment of
Paradise and There the oracle undoubtedly lay, atop his own bloody defilement. No
neighbours were witness to the slaying
as Christ’s Home was Surrounded by a shoulder height Wall. They Read the
suicide note: one sentence declaring that he had thus sacrificed himself willingly,
martyrdom being the natural depths of his mission.

‘Are You sure it is the oracle You
envisioned?’

‘Perfectly Sure, Father. I Will always Remember
his face.’

‘We had better Take him inside. Clean up
as best We can.’

The oracle was tenderly borne within
Christ’s Home, the filthy carnage cleaned in thirty minutes. So easily
destroyed. Impossible to Recreate. The oracle was laid out on Christ’s Bed and
Both He and God soon Arrived at the conclusion that he was irreplaceable.
Healing the moral law’s breach was endemic to this prophet’s very core, the
purpose of his creation, just as Christ’s Purpose was elementally to bring us
all eternal life. Eternal damnation now lay ahead, God Having no Doubt that the
steadily growing corruption of facile prayer forgiving continuous outrages of
every sort would lead even unto Them. But They Both Had to Discuss the matter Further
and so Entered the Living Room.

They had no real Choice: the oracle must
be resurrected despite his unforgivable end. For the first time in eternity God
had to Forgive someone who had vehemently thrown away His gift of life.

‘But We may not be able to revive him,’
said God. ‘He has exercised his free will to its utmost summit.’

‘What will happen if he can’t be revived
after an Attempt?’

‘I don’t know, My Son. Reality could well
implode in an instant, either of Our Failure at his resurrection causing a
fundamental trauma in life’s structures. Or We may well just have to await
life’s eventual necrosis with his passing.’

‘Would it reach Us?”

‘Assuredly. The moral law will even decay
Our Foundations.’

‘We Must
Revive him, Father. It is the lesser of two evils. If We Try and Fail then so
be it. At least it might be a quicker Obliteration. But We Have to Try, Have to Grab
howsoever slim a chance to Safeguard Reality and all life. If We don’t Try then
We have no Hope.’

God Pondered a moment. His Son was right,
They had to Try. If They Didn’t Reality and all life was assuredly doomed. Any
chance to prevent this must be Sought, and They could well Succeed.

‘We shall Attempt it,’ God declared. ‘But
which of Us to Make the Attempt? Thou Art Responsible for eternal life, Your
Purpose, whereas I am Ultimately Responsible for Creation entire. To Whom does
this fraught burden Fall?’

‘We must Choose wisely.’

‘We shall have only the Single Attempt.’

They remained Mute for some minutes,
Battling Despair.

‘Perhaps Both of Us, Father? Perhaps Our
Combined Wills are the Panacea?’

God anew Felt Hope, the crawling sin closer
to All Of His Hairs relaxing, rescinding His mounting Despair.

‘Methinks ‘tis the only course.’

‘As do I, Father.’

They then Both Entered Christ’s large
Bedroom again, with only a King size Bed, a Bedside Cabinet, a Wardrobe, and
now the slain oracle. Placing Their Right Hands upon his butchered arteries,
Closing then Their Eyes They Called to him Through Their Touch, Massaging his
despair, Forgiving his deep sin this once only.

Simultaneously They soon Each felt the opened
arteries fully heal and Each could Distinctly Hear a deeply terrified wail. A
scream that echoed from every star, every planet, and every particle. The
mighty, abandoned scream They Absorbed, Screaming too So Very Loudly Within,
but Relieving it with Quicker, Deeper and Deeper Breaths.

The Screaming slowly ebbed off, Their
Breathing Forcing it under control. Until it was no more. They Each Removed
Their Hands.

They opened Their Eyes, Both Mildy
Sweating.

The oracle’s head was writhing from side
to side, then a deep, desperate and joyous gulp of sweet air and he opened his
eyes. They Looked at this awesome gift with Undeniable Concern, Eager to Assist.

‘Where am I?’ he asked. He appeared to
have simply awoken for the day.

‘You’re at a good Samaritan’s. I found you
outside My Place,’ answered Christ. ‘Do you remember what happened?’

‘No.’

‘You were covered in blood when We Found
you,’ assisted God.

‘Mine?’

‘I don’t Think so,’ continued God. ‘We’ve
had a Look for any cuts and you’re fine. What’s your name?’

‘Elijah. Elijah d’Israeli.’

‘A fine name, Elijah,’ extolled God. ‘A
noble name indeed.’

‘You must have got in a fight, Elijah,’
said Christ. ‘You’re obviously the victor for there is not a scratch on you.’

‘I can’t remember a thing, not a thing.’ Elijah
appeared to look inwards, turning his head to the left and remembering. ‘I
remember having a wine…three wines. Someone with a razor. Nothing more.’

‘Do you drink often, Elijah,’ asked God.

‘A tad too much.’

‘Do you have a family history of any
mental illness?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I Think that and the alcohol have
obviously caught up with you. You’re very lucky you won that fight, there’s a
lot of blood on you.’

Elijah surveyed himself. ‘My God, there is a lot! ’

‘I’ll Give you some Clothes to change
into,’ offered Christ. ‘You might also want to shower.’

‘Thanks,’ said Elijah. ‘No more wine for
this little black duck!’ They then all laughed and Elijah was able to head into
the shower to cleanse himself. Christ’s Clothes, without Underwear, fitted him
perfectly and Elijah made a hasty getaway, loathe to accept any more charity.

‘Thank you, thank you both. God knows what
might have happened if you both hadn’t rescued me.’ Elijah said this just
before leaving.

‘Bless you, my son,’ said God.

Elijah then left, memories now returning
to him of his self-chosen mission, steadily showing to any who will listen, to any
who will not listen, that a simple prayer no longer absolves wilful
paedophilia, persistent misogyny, and all unchecked, self-assured abuses.

‘Bless you, my son,’ said God when Elijah
had turned right onto the main road leading away from Paradise. He then closed
the door, smiling.